


The Only Slice of Heaven

by TatyanaIvanshov



Series: Versailles Missing Monchevy Scenes [6]
Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Fights, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, IM IN PAIN, M/M, OTP Feels, PROTECT MONSIEUR AT ALL COSTS, Save Me, Season/Series 02, Smut, THEY KILL ME, monchevy - Freeform, theyre too cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24761545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TatyanaIvanshov/pseuds/TatyanaIvanshov
Summary: The Chevalier is heartbroken. He is sitting alone in the salons after his talk with Liselotte when someone walks in...
Relationships: Chevalier de Lorraine/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)
Series: Versailles Missing Monchevy Scenes [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873663
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	The Only Slice of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> I hate what they did to Monchevy is season 2 so I have apparently taken it upon myself to add missing scenes that are actually good. 
> 
> This is set right after Episode 7 where the Chevalier is crying in the salons after his talk with Liselotte. Let us all cry together.
> 
> @philippesquared on Twitter requested this so, HERE, LEE. ENJOY. CRY.

Tears spilled down the Chevalier’s cheeks until he was sure there were none left to cry. This was a sort of sobbing not triggered easily. It meant heartbreak. Humiliation. Fear. So much fear. Liselotte was right. He was scared and he found it in himself to admit it. Philippe had shared a bed with others before, men and women, and never was his heart as shattered as it was at that moment. Never had his affectioned lessened so drastically and if they did, he always attempted to make it up to the Chevalier through jewels and gifts. But this time, it seemed as though he was not only unwilling to share a bed but unwilling to share his coin as well.

As he looked around the grand salon where he sat, cards on the table and not another soul in sight, and realized how empty it all felt. All the gold seemed to have turned to cheap, rusted metal and every painting had become the work of an unsupervised toddler with paints and a canvas. Nothing glimmered in the palace anymore. It all fell dull, coarse, and at times, unbearable, and as he sat there, in the middle of it all, he had never felt emptier. 

His mind raced, all empty thoughts in flashes that quickly disintegrated into nothing, the glass vial between his fingers gradually emptying out. 

The Chevalier de Lorraine, weak. Helpless. Left to shatter in the arms of a man he never realized meant so much to him. Who would’ve thought? He wept as he thought about it, as he thought about the beautiful Prince, the moans he had just overheard behind the door ringing through his ear like the ghost of a dead loved one. It almost did feel like a dead loved one, or at the very least, a loss. A grave loss that he mourned in the early hours of the morning, unwilling to sleep. 

It was only when he heard a shuffle by the door that he urged himself to suppress his sobs, the fear of getting caught at such a vulnerable state by one that would spread the information as a piece of gossip throughout all of Versailles being too great to risk. He stopped and listened before turning towards where the soft noise of the most tender steps, came from. 

His breath was caught in his throat when his eyes met the Princes’ icy cold ones, fixated on him from the doorway on which he leaned. He wore only his deep blue dressing gown over his nightgown, his curls trickling down his face to hide a stoned expression. The Chevalier’s chest fluttered and ached at the same time, a glint of hope in his glistening eyes, mixed with fear. Loads and loads of fear. 

Neither spoke. They simply simmered in the thousands of words left unsaid, taking comfort in one another’s presence. 

“No crude remarks? No sarcastic comments? No underhanded observations meant to guilt me?” Philippe’s voice was coarse and low, and the Chevalier noted he had probably just awakened as he was all too familiar with the way the Princes’ face would lighten in color and lift in certain places when he awoke from slumber. He remembered.

The Chevalier shook his head, finally managing to rip his eyes away from the beautiful man that made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar ache. 

“So, if I leave, you will not urge me to stay?” Philippe crossed his arms in front of his chest and his head tipping towards the doorframe that his shoulder was against. Lorraine’s eyes lifted, looking at him as if he had just suggested they go sunbathing in July for tan. He shook his head once more, lifting the remaining cards into the rest of the neat stack. “Christ, Liselotte was right.” 

“What is it you want?” The Chevalier’s tone was as unbothered as it was annoyed, throwing Philippe off as he had never heard his lover speak to him in that manner before, dismissive, uncaring. Now, it was Philippe’s turn to shrug. The Chevalier huffed out a bitter chuckle, Philippe’s gaze dropping to the floor. It pulled on the other man’s heartstrings but he was too hurt to do anything about it. 

“Is this about you wanting new breeches? An overcoat perhaps? Is that what you’re pouting about?”

“I cannot believe you.” Lorraine let the glass bottle, almost empty at this point, fall on the table in a louder thud than he’d anticipated. 

“I can arrange that if it’ll stop you from moping around like this.” Philippe pushed himself off the entryway and found his path towards the table where his lover sat. Or at least he thought he was his lover still. 

“For fuck’s sake, Philippe, I do not care for your money!” His voice was loud enough to echo, merely startling the Prince in place, left to gaze aimlessly upon the Chevalier. “Even Liselotte was not so blind.” He softened but still oozing anger. 

“Louis warned me about this. He was right. I am blind. I am blind to your faults and failures and all you have put me through to keep you around.” Lorraine couldn’t believe the words that sliced the air, sharp and unforgiving, a jab to his already aching chest. He held back tears, turning to face Philippe who stood there, clutching the backrest of a chair. 

“Well, if that is the case, feel free to rid yourself of this burden you carry, Monsieur.” He knew the Prince hated when the Chevalier addressed him so formally and as the title left his lips, it earned the irritated sigh he was expecting from the dark-haired Prince. Bitterness was eating them alive.

“And with what money are you to s-” 

“Would you just drop the money? I do not want money. I do not want breeches. Hell, I do not even want this.” The Chevalier clicked the lid of the glass vial shut. Fists clutched on the table and he felt heat rush to his face, his eyebrows knit together as he stared up at Philippe. 

“Then what is it you want?” The Prince was getting obviously more and more irritated by the second but the Chevalier was too far gone to notice or care. He had been hurting for too long and he knew… he knew so well this would only make things worse, it’d only make Philippe hate him even more but at this point, what did it matter? He got nothing either way, might as well make his feelings clear with it.

“You!” He merely screamed, leaving the other’s jaw dropped, not knowing how to respond. His eyes searched around the room, not knowing what to say, what to do to make it better, to make all this anger subside. 

“Me?”

“Yes. Is it really so hard to believe I am not as vain and as cruel as rumor makes me out to be? And here I was, thinking you knew me better.” Lorraine seethed, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up. To pull himself out of the hole he had dug himself into yet it seemed impossible. It was too deep and only the Prince’s hand could be of help. Only then would he meet the surface once more.

“What do you want me to do? I have a duty I must fulfill. It cannot be always about you!” 

“But it never is! I’m not asking for always, at this point I’m not even asking for sometimes. I’m simply asking for once. Twice. Anything to remind me that I am more to you than just a burden you wish to rid yourself of!” He stood up in swift motion, the back of his knees sending the chair flying back. Philippe took a step back as if he had just been threatened. 

“All my attempts at that have been shot down, so far.” His eyes were cast to the floor. 

“What attempts? Not pushing me away for once? Is that what you consider an attempt?” 

“Last night, all was well. We were fine. What happened?” 

“After I was interrogated by the Queen and had my business ventures ripped away from me? After I hear you in bed with your wife? After you hurt me for the millionth time since returning to this Godforsaken palace?” 

“You do not need a new business venture, I’ll give you the mone-”

“Good heavens, Philippe, it isn’t about the fucking money!” The glass bottle on the table was shot flying through the room, only to shatter into pieces in a frightening noise. “It’s about you and me and your stupid wife, and your precious playwright friend and all the ways you constantly choose to neglect me!” 

“So, this is about you, then? Of course, it is. When is anything about anyone else?” Philippe’s voice also rose, and he fought to keep himself under control. “You’re just as selfish as my brother says.” 

“Just as selfish as your brother says?” The Chevalier is taken aback, mimicking the words in disbelief. “You know what else your brother says? That you’re childish. Immature. Weak. That you’re a sinner, good for nothing, especially not war! And who has been there to tell you otherwise time and time again? It wasn’t about me then, was it?” 

“Philippe-” The Prince tried to lean forward and take the Chevalier’s arm.

“Don’t you dare.” He snapped, struggling out of the unsuccessful grip.

“You’re jealous!”

“You’ve given me reason to be! What else do you expect?” His hands lay flat against the table as he leaned on them, his head hanging between his arms. It hurt. Everything hurt. From his chest to his body, his head, his heart. It all ached, especially in the presence of the boy he had loved for so long. A man now. When had he missed that change? When had his boyish charms and tender smiles ended, only to be replaced by this cruel man that answers only to the King? And could he love him again?

“This is just as hard for me as it is for you. You think I like laying with my wife? A woman! It’s torturous, Philippe, why can’t you see that? Why can’t you be there for me when I need you?” 

“Like you were there for me tonight?” 

“Listen, I’m sorry but I couldn’t have known you were gonna come, and you did not make your presence known, either.” 

“I didn’t wish to interrupt. It sounded like you were having a blast.” 

“Stop it.”

“Were you not, Your Highness?” 

“Stop!” 

“Answer me!” 

“You’re going too far!” The Prince dug his nails into the backrest of the seat he held, anger clawing at his body, a whisper in his ear to lash out. 

“I said, answer me, Your fucking Highness!” 

“Yes, I was! Yes!” The room fell silent, the great contrast after the screams made the lack of them more powerful. The Chevalier felt his heart crack, a surge of pain he didn’t know was possible.

“Well, there you have it.” He muttered, watching Philippe’s jaw clench before mustering up the strength to walk out on the Prince, leaving him standing in the middle of the salons, alone. 

He attempted to hold in sobs until he was in his rooms or at least far enough so that he would not be heard weeping for the hundredth time tonight, for the same man, with the same breaking heart. Lorraine found his door and rattled with it for a bit before managing to swing it open, padding inside as he put down his cravat and slipped out of his overcoat. He swallowed back the lump that continuously grew in his throat, ready to burst, determined to hold it in until he curled into bed. 

He barely did, breaking down when he still had his bottom half, clothed. Thoughts raced his head nonstop, growing louder and more cunning yet he was slowly numbing to their extreme cruelty. Once he had his nightshirt on, he found his bed and blew out the candle on the nightstand, curling into the linens that were chilly under his barely clothed skin. When he finally gave himself permission to cry, to let out all the troubles he carried, nothing came out. Nothing but angry grunts and hiccups without tears that were quickly interrupted by the door that creaked open. He knew too well who it was, by the way that his feet hit the ground, by the huffs of his breath, by the way that he swallowed when he got near. 

“You did not let me finish.” Philippe’s whisper was as tender as it could get, carried pain, and torment that he did not let on prior. The Chevalier was facing away from him, back turned to the Prince and that did not change as he approached the bed, hovering for a moment as if asking for permission, never receiving an answer but silence. 

Lorraine squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to drive away the welling tears that threatened to come rushing down his cheeks and onto the pillow that he clutched, desperate for the warmth of the feathers. He felt the mattress behind him sink, signaling a heavyweight that crawled in-between the sheets as well. 

Philippe was scared, an obvious nervousness building up as he shivered. He needed warmth just as the Chevalier did but the coldness between them drove a wedge too large. The Prince laid back, aimlessly watching the ceiling that hovered above them and waited for a response, any response, that signaled that his lover cared to listen. 

But it didn’t matter. From the waves of his uneven breaths and the brief movement of his shoulders, Philippe knew he was not asleep and that was all that mattered. He had to speak anyways. He was too hurt and burdened to not speak his mind.

“She told me to imagine.” He began, his voice low and trembling, from the cold or nervousness, he could not tell. “She was right. If I was to do anything with her, I couldn’t be there. At least not in my head.” Philippe rubbed his eyes as if trying to wake himself from the nightmare of his own making. “She instructed me to imagine… sweaty soldiers on a battlefield. Armor off. Clothes off-” 

“How lovely.” The Chevalier finally whispered, voice so faint, if Philippe had been speaking any louder he would’ve missed it. 

“Listen to me.” Philippe’s stern command made the Chevalier hush and listen, curling further into the sheets that still resonated no warmth. “She made up these stories, about these men in the camps. She… whispered them to me.” Philippe shuddered. “But it was up to me to envision them. And as I did, every one of those men had your face, your body. They had your golden hair.” He hesitated but turned to the Chevalier’s side, facing his back and reaching to wrap around his fingertips a curl that was tossed on the pillow, so bright, even in utter darkness. “They were so all beautiful. And I realized how much I missed them.” 

When he saw no response, especially not a desirable one, he pulled back, undoing his fingers that ached at the loss of contact he yearned for. 

“As much as she tried, she could never be you. Her hair doesn’t have the same curl to it. They’re slightly different. Thinner. And when I bury my face in her neck, it doesn’t smell like peaches and… you. It doesn’t smell like you.” Philippe froze for a moment, debating his next moves, careful and calculating. He crawled forward until his front met Lorraine’s back, but all his limbs could do were stand back. They didn’t wrap around him like they always did. Philippe was too scared, only permitting his hand to be placed on the Chevalier’s shoulder where he ran his fingers through the gorgeous strands. “She is not you and she’ll never me, just like Thomas. No one will ever be you and frankly, it hurts me that you think I care so little that I would replace you so easily. With a woman, especially.”

The Chevalier’s body softened at his lover’s touch, comfort like no other he had ever felt, enveloping him. He couldn’t keep this up any longer for he missed Philippe wholeheartedly. He did not care if he would be thrown out of the palace tomorrow, or if he would never receive another penny again. Right now, all he ached for was his Prince that silently begged forgiveness with merely a touch. 

Salty droplets came running down his cheek, his shoulders trembling as he sobbed into the pillow. Without thinking, almost instinctively, Philippe’s arms and legs wrapped around the Chevalier, fitting right into him, two bodies curled into one. He buried his face in his hair and inhaled as deeply as his lungs allowed him to, filling himself with the whiff of home, so delightful and warm, like sitting at a fireplace for with a good read or basking in sunlight on grasslands.

“Philippe.” The Prince whispered in his lover’s ear as he caressed out of the way the shimmering, soft coils. “My sweet Chevalier. God, how I’ve missed you.” Heat enveloped his shivering body that relaxed in the sudden embrace. 

Lorraine gave in. He rolled around so they laid face to face, bare legs curling together under the sheets to keep each other warm, an arm cuffed around Monsieur’s waist to bring him closer. Their noses brushed against each other and Philippe was hurt to see the way tears had affected the precious face of the man he loved so dearly. His eyes, bloodshot, red and swollen, his lips all the same, along with his miniature, cherry nose. 

“You’ve hurt me, my love,” Chevalier muttered, and at the innocent pout, Philippe could no longer resist wrapping his arms around his neck and holding Lorrain’s head to his chest where he heard his violently thumping heart. “Deeply.” 

“Forgive me.” Philippe’s legs wrapped around the other man’s waist, fitting him into his own body as best he could. “Louis has done this to us. Every day I miss Saint-Cloud.” Sadness filled the air, stifling. “I miss feeding you oranges, remember that?” 

The Chevalier let out a breathy chuckle, his face still nuzzled into Philippe’s chest.

“The sun always shined there, did it not, my dear?” His mumbles were muffled but Philippe understood, running his fingers through his hair, caressing them back. 

“It always did.” He swallowed back the lump that began to form in his throat, emotion far too intricate and powerful than he thought he could feel. “And the birds. They never stopped singing for us.” 

“You’d have their heads if they did.” They chuckled together until a melancholic silence fell between the pair. After so long, the Chevalier was relieved at the security the Prince’s arms brought around him, at last, a cradle of safety that no one, not even the devil himself, could lay a hand on him while he was in it. 

“I’m sorry I cannot give you that.” Philippe shut his eyes but the darkness was shortlived. When Lorraine brought his head back up, their faces mere inches away from each other, their gazes met. 

“She told you to use your imagination, did she not?” He whispered, his breath of chocolate and wine enticing Philippe that leaned in. “Can you hear that?” 

“What?” 

“The birds.” 

A smile stretched out across Philippe’s face. 

“They’re singing for us?” 

“Mhm.” The Chevalier nodded. “And if we look out of the window, we shall see the garden. Your garde-” 

“Our garden.” Philippe corrected, simple words that brought the Chevalier to tears and Philippe along with him.

“Our garden. And our fountain. And our lake. We should go bathe in it tomorrow morning. What do you think?” 

“Only if you let me make love to you on our big, fluffy bed when we get out,” Philippe spoke thoughtlessly, not realizing what he had said until after it had passed his lips that Lorraine was swift to occupy. Their mouths crashed together, hungry for a taste of each other, in dire need to possess something more in their formed little bubble. His arms gripped and tightened around the Prince’s torso, pulling him as close as two bodies could be, until they were but one. “Or now.” He breathed but it was cut short by the famished pair of lips once more.

They rolled until Lorraine was on top, settled between Philippe’s spread legs, not daring to break the kiss that lit them both, showcasing perfectly just how much they missed this closeness that no other could ever replace. A buck of Philippe’s hips is all it took for the Chevalier to catch up to him, the growing anticipation of blood flow driving him mad with lust as he pulled back to gaze at his lover’s tender features of an angel. He ran his nose down his cheek, his jaw, to his chin until he found his neck. Philippe tipped his head back, allowing access to the pearl shaded throat that drove the Chevalier forward. He ran his lips down, kissing and tugging with his teeth and lips, tongue running down to his collarbone where he began to feel, more and more, the thumping heart of the Prince that only grew louder as their hips thrust against each other for the slightest bit of friction. 

“Please.” The whisper was as faint as it was trembling, a plead, the first of many stringing from his mouth as his head fell back. The Chevalier rode his lips back up to press them against his Prince’s while a finger caressed back a strand of locks that were pushed back onto the pillow. 

“You were with Liselotte already tonight.” Lorraine murmured, eyes dropping in despair as if realizing something that would ruin their whole night. Philippe was quick to slither his hands on the other man’s cheek, their eyes meeting once more. 

“Do you remember that night, four months ago, was it? We dismissed everyone anywhere near our rooms in Saint-Cloud and…” Philippe trailed off, a smile tugging at the corners of his swollen lips as Lorraine mimicked, knowing well what Philippe was speaking of. 

“Eight times.”

“And the morning wasn’t exactly uneventful, either.” They giggled as their lips pressed together in needy pecks to steal as many kisses as possible before it would all rip away. “If you can do all that to me, you can do this, my sweet. Tonight I am yours.” 

“Only tonight?” The Chevalier pressed his lips shut when he realized what he had just said might not have been the best idea.

“Tonight. And tomorrow night. And the night after that. Until I have taken my last breath, I am yours. And even after, in death, you will be the only one with true memories of me, and I will live on, still yours just as I have always been, my darling.” Their tears mixed together, a heavy brick weighing down at their chests that stayed pressed together. 

“Do not speak of death. We will have lived first. A full life. Together. Can you promise me that?” The Chevalier’s eyes searched Philippe’s ones that glistened in tears that trailed down the sides of his face, onto the pillow. 

“I promise you. No one will take me away. Not Liselotte, not Louis, certainly not Thomas. They are but obstacles that we shall overcome. I promise. I’d move heaven and earth to have this again and again until I am no more.” Philippe’s words were a balm to every burnt wound and bruise the ached in his lover’s heart. 

“Wait here.” 

Warmth was lost for a moment as the Chevalier struggled out of bed, almost tripping when his nightgown caught at the mess of sheets on the bed. He hopped into the other room as Philippe massaged his fingertips on his closed lids to rid himself of emotion that overwhelmed him, body and soul. When the other returned with something in his hand, he balanced a knee on the bed for a moment, long enough for Philippe to tug at his nightgown, a simple instruction that the Chevalier obeyed by slipping it off, over his head and going to do the same to Philippe who was left staring, rather dumbfounded, at the body before him that he loved so much. 

“You are magnificent, my love.” His lips pressed against Lorraine’s chest and stomach until Lorraine got to crawling back on him, what Philippe recognized as a vial of oil was twirling in the other’s hand. “Oh, I am the luckiest man alive. The King of the world.” 

“My King.” 

“You’re my King,” Philippe whispered treasonous words that could get him killed but this was their heaven. It didn’t matter. They were far from etiquette, rules, regulations. It was just them, for what they were, two lusting bodies whose hearts beat for one another.

Their kisses were hungry. Needy. Droplets slid down their chests as their bodies bloomed together, grinding and taking all they could from one another. The Chevalier’s hand slipped between them, cupping between Philippe’s legs. “King’s lands.” 

“Yes, Sire.” Monsieur ground forward, meeting every inch of their bodies together. His pace quickened. “Please, Majesty.” His breaths were ragged, eyes shut as he threw his head back on the pillows. The Chevalier’s lips roamed, kissed all they could, quenching his thirst for the body he has been starved for, for so long. 

“Open your eyes. Look at me. If you look away…” Neither dared to shut their eyes as the gentle kiss they shared indulged them both. The Prince knew the end to that sentence. He knew the consequences he would have to face and did as was instructed, waiting for the Chevalier to prepare them both. Philippe felt himself aching, yearning as he had never felt with his wife or any other body for that matter. This was it for him. This was what he needed. 

The Chevalier hurried, hissing as he spread the cool oil on himself but giggled when he noticed Philippe lick his lips with a tint greeting his rosy cheeks. He knew what Philippe wanted but right now, they had to feel each other, be with each other and explore a certain intimacy they both missed gravely.

His hand slithered between the two of them, studying Philippe’s reaction closely while his fingers played and caressed, earning a sharp gasp before it turned to a whimper. One finger, two fingers, he watched the Prince wither and moan under him, all sounds that made him lose himself in the comfort they brought. 

“You’ll be the death of me,” Philippe threw his head back, eyes shutting, and quickly, the Chevalier’s fingers retreated, leaving him empty and whimpering. “No! No, please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ll be good.” He fixated his gaze back on Lorraine that couldn’t help his amused giggles. 

“How about I give you something better?” He shuffled into position, pressing himself against the Prince’s thigh, earning another gasp as he chewed at his bottom lip to keep from making too much noise. He always did but the Chevalier never complained. He loved it. He loved every delicious sound that was caused by him and him alone and he lost himself in those moans like they were his heaven on earth. In some ways, they were. “Mmh.” 

“Please, my King.” His lips frivolously took the Chevalier’s, their tongues dancing together almost chaotically. He could no longer resist and the Prince noticed, bracing himself, with barely open eyes, for his lover. They gasped as he pressed himself into the Prince who’s nails were digging in the other’s shoulders. “Ah!” A whimper as he thrust deeper, their hips bucking together to meet in the middle.

“Fuck, Philippe.” The Chevalier took a moment once their bodies were molten together fully, Philippe’s legs wrapped around his waist and Philippe’s arms around his shoulders. He felt him adjust, the tightness still almost too much to bear as he worked up strength for another thrust. Monsieur’s hips rode up at the same time, landing too deep for either of them to remain silent. 

Philippe curled his fingers in the Chevalier’s hair gasping as their pace quickened, the set sounds of slapping skin and bewildered moans filling the air of their little bubble. Their eyes remained fixated together, the bright, pale shade of Philippe’s drove the Chevalier even madder to where he could not control the depth of his pounds, repeatedly, just to watch the Prince’s eyes rolled back at the sharp sensation of hitting that delicious spot.

“Oh, God! Oh, so good. Fuck.” Philippe took in every last slam, clenching around Lorraine every time until he was seeing stars. Lips roughed together, famished for more- if there was more. There had to be. “Philippe!” He called out to the Chevalier that lost all sense of himself, grabbing between then, onto Philippe that still remained untouched as he pushed so deep, the Prince felt he would be split into two.

His raven hair was a halo around the pillow, his lips red and plump, ready to be ravaged. It was obvious to him Lorraine could no longer take it, the sight too enticing. Moans and screams turned to broken whimpers, pleas as they drove each other further onto the edge of bliss. 

“Don’t stop.” Monsieur cried. It took all he had not to close his eyes and throw his head back as he often did, and the Chevalier relished in the delightful discomfort he made the Prince feel, driving deeper and deeper until there was nothing left. “Please, please! Please!” He did not know what he was begging for, release possible? For more? Tears began to gather at the corners of his eyes as he watched the Chevalier’s jaw drop and knew he was nearing the end.

“Yes, beg. Can she make you beg this way? Hm?” Lorraine watched his Prince shake his head vigorously, not able to utilize his mouth. The Chevalier’s sly smirk was accompanied by the glint in his eyes the Prince adored, like a snake, ready to bite.

Thrusts became violent, sloppy, Lorraine’s hand on Philippe that trusted aimlessly was driving them both to completion. Nothing felt real anymore, their bodies disintegrating together like mixed ashes, and they relished the feeling of limbs so tightly coiled into one. The Chevalier’s hands slipped underneath Philippe and cupped, angeling him to drive deeper and harder with all force left in his writhing body. 

One thrust. And another. And another, and there was nothing but them in the room, no bed underneath, no world around, just the two of them, crying out in the release that ripped everything they had and everything they were out of them. The Chevalier’s head fell into Philippe’s neck, silently permitting the little Prince to shut his eyes, continuously thrusting until every last drop left his body and the Chevalier froze on top of him, transfixed by the feeling he felt in his bones. 

I love you- he wanted to whisper. He wanted to sob into his neck, from the overwhelming emotion that rushed through him. He wanted to kiss him repeatedly, and between each kiss whisper his love for only Philippe’s lips. I love you so much. More than life itself. The world could split into two and I would still love you. 

His body fell to the side, careful not to hurt Monsier’s sensitive body when pulling out, watching not to get any of the spilled contents from Philippe’s, onto his own heaving chest. Pants filled the room as they lay in bliss, bodies still coursing with pleasure beyond this world. Silent, serene, like the city after a natural disaster, like it was all said and done, everything on the table for each other and there was nothing left to say and nothing left to do. 

Except for one thing. 

I love you.

I love you so much.

“I hate you.” The Chevalier slurred, earning a giggle from Philippe that remained enchanted by the extreme pleasures as he laid back with his eyes shut and breaths ragged, an afterglow too beautiful to be tainted. Lorraine managed to prop himself up, his body feeling like a rusted mechanism, too aching for fluid movements. He held back a hiss when the sheets rubbed coarsely onto the sensitive, reddened spot while he attempted to slip out of bed. The cold floor underneath his bare feet was an odd sensation while his body felt this way, but he pushed the thoughts aside and made his way to grab the large bowl of water left out on the table and a piece of cloth at its side, bringing them both to the side of the bed Monsieur lay on and placing them on the nightstand. He sat at the edge and admired. 

He watched the Prince, the raven curls still cascading down his shoulders, his dark brows and dark eyelashes contrasting the paleness of his skin. He looked like an angel when he lay so, enjoying moments of peace. He lived for times like this when he could enjoy the aftermath of such strenuous activity with pleasure like no other. And the Chevalier lived for the moments when he could hover above him and take care of the frail body underneath. 

He dipped the cloth into the water and, with a touch as tender as they come, he ran it over Philippe’s chest, cleaning away the remains of their lovemaking. Philippe hissed at the cold sensation, still not peeling his eyes open, but soothing down when he felt the Chevalier’s hand caressing at his forehead, brushing away the sweaty strands stuck to his head. 

I love you so much. 

It’d be so easy to just open his mouth and say it. His heart strained at the feeling. He still didn’t dare, just continued to run the washcloth down Monsieur’s bare skin, basking in its velvet feel. Once his chest and stomach were clear, he knew he had to disturb the untainted beauty to get between his legs to his own mess. 

“Darling,” He whispered, dragging the cloth down his thigh. Philippe got the message and spread open, giving access to the deepest parts of himself, and right now, the most sensitive. He sucked in a sharp breath when the Chevalier’s hand struck a nerve, but didn’t flinch, didn’t close back up, didn’t push him away.

The bond between them was so strong, their minds together in sync, they didn’t even have to share a look to know what was going on. Trust. Love. So much love. 

The Chevalier was tender and kind, his touch was forgiving, nothing like the ruthless grip from mere minutes ago. A grip that had left marks all over the frail skin. He admired them. He once more owned the Prince, reminded him of their love and now that he was back in his good graces, he could sleep at night, knowing in the morning his Philippe would be there to kiss him awake just as he had done every morning in Saint-Cloud. And as he ran the wet cloth down roughed up skin, he couldn’t help but smile at the thoughts of being back home. 

“What?” Philippe’s whisper came as a surprise, laced with a gentle smile that could soothe even the coldest beasts. His eyes had fluttered open to find the Chevalier’s. He admired his lover and the way he was so attentive and caring. No one would do this for him, especially not with a smile as beautiful as that. 

What? I’m in love. I love you.

“Nothing.” Lorraine finished up with the last of it and draped the cloth on the side of the bowl. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.” A slight flush enveloped Philippe’s cheeks. He lowered his head to hide his tender features behind the curls. How he could still blush and hide away like this after the carnal desires they had just fulfilled, while he was spilled across the sheets, naked, raw for his lover’s eyes only, always made the Chevalier’s heart squirm. 

He crawled back on top of Philippe and brushed away the hair, only to press a kiss on the tender lips he could kiss for the rest of his life and still not get enough. Their tongues met for a mere moment before their kiss broke, and the Chevalier rolled to the other side.

“You’re so good to me. I’m sorry for everything. Right now, if I had the power to, I’d fall at your feet and beg for forgiveness.” Philippe’s sad eyes pleaded to be loved and the Chevalier did just that. He held him near to his chest, allowed him to lay his head on Lorraine’s bicep as they caressed each other’s hair and bodies, soothing away all memory of the rough moments they had shared.

“And I’d pick you up and forgive you. And then I’d kiss you.” Lorraine whispered back.

“I do have the power for that.” Philippe swirled his bottom lip between his teeth before they were kissed, possessed, owned. The Chevalier always did more than just kiss him. He owned him. He laid claim to those lips so no other could do the same. So no other could ever make his lover feel the same way. “I’d use my dying breath for that.”

“Are the birds still singing?” Lorraine mumbled as he pressed his nose against Philippe’s soft cheek. 

“Like a church choir, my love.” His fingers ran down Lorraine’s face, feeling small under his love, curled up in his body, so desperate to be touched, kissed, held. He felt his cheeks tug up with a faint grin. 

“I’ll take you to the lake tomorrow.” 

“I’d like that very much.” Philippe cuddled into the Chevalier’s chest, nuzzling his face into his neck and twirling his fingers into the few chest hairs. “And then we’ll sit by the fireplace in the evening? The one in our grand salon.” Lorraine smiled, reminded of all the times they had removed everyone in Saint-Cloud from that Salon so they could have it to themselves. 

“Only if you’ll read to me.” 

“Until you’re asleep, my dear.” Philippe laid kisses on his lover’s skin before burying into his neck, his whole body relaxing onto the beautiful one underneath him. They fit together so well, and the Chevalier couldn’t help the tear that slid down his cheek as an overwhelming amount of love flooded him, his chest aching at the fullness. 

They laid in each other’s arms, at last, a beautiful sereness washing over them like soft beach waves in the earliest hours of the morning where there is no wind, no troubles, not a soul in sight. Just the two of them. Philippe’s breaths steadied and at the way he relaxed, the Chevalier knew he had drifted off to sleep.

He swallowed, careful not to breathe too deeply and stir the beautiful Prince awake. His mouth went dry as cotton as he mustered up the courage. 

“I love you.” He whispered, a soft breath in the wind to be carried away, unheard and unfettered. Only he heard it and for the moment, it would remain his little secret. Nonetheless, Philippe knew. He had always known, just as the Chevalier knew the same thing back.

He shut his eyes, finding comfort in Philippe’s touch, his body, his skin, his distinct smell, too familiar to not get him to melt on the sheets. He loved this man with everything he was and everything he could be and no one could take that away from them. Not even a King. Not even a wife. Not even the church or even Satan himself. For it was too powerful to grasp and no earthly creature could reckon it until they had felt it. The Chevalier felt it. His chest tightened almost painfully. Philippe was laying on it. 

The apple of his eye. 

The love of his life. 

The only slice of heaven either of them would ever get, in each other’s arms.


End file.
